


Fearful

by formalizing



Series: Tumblr Writing [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing
Summary: He could destroy Dean so completely with a glance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on Tumblr](http://all-these-formalities.tumblr.com/post/141351857109/you-could-be-my-poison-my-cross-my-razor).
> 
> For [@sketchydean](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/)'s lyric prompt: "you could be my poison, my cross, my razor blade; i could love you more than life if i wasn't so afraid."
> 
> Lyrics from "[My Favourite Faded Fantasy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rh1C8qpODZs)" by Damien Rice.

> _You could have my favourite face_  
>  _And favourite name_  
>  _…_  
>  _I got lost in your willingness_  
>  _To dream within the dream_

Dean isn’t afraid of much—it’s been a long time since he was a scared-silent little boy who couldn’t sleep without the bedroom door cracked, shaking at the smell of smoke and news stories about house fires. He has words and weapons and 21 years of hard-earned strength, now; he’s not scared of nameless, faceless monsters anymore.

The only thing that scares him now has a familiar face. It’s half-hidden behind too-long bangs, almost always wearing that 17-and-restless frown, so close to grown. But he’s seen that face toothless and covered in strained carrots; he’s scrubbed blood and wiped tears from cheeks that aren’t so chubby anymore.

He’s terrified of Sam, of the way he smiles sometimes; he looks at Dean with a twisted-up version of love in his eyes that Dean recognizes from the mirror. Dean shivers every time he pretends to sleep through Sam’s whispers of his name at night.

Because he’s trained his whole life to deal with danger, to handle sharp things without cutting himself on their edges, but he wants to cut himself on Sam. He wants to press his palms to the line of Sam’s jaw, the curve of his spine, the inviting crests of hips that might fit just right in his grip. He would touch until his hands bled, until his fingers slipped along the places where Sam is growing angular, _sharp_ , becoming a different kind of weapon.

He could destroy Dean so completely with a glance. 

But Dean’s also trained his whole life to look out for his brother, to ‘keep an eye on Sammy,’ and he can’t make himself look away, even now that Sam is looking back. 

He’s faced the monsters in the dark—from the ones hiding under the bed to the ones that don’t hide at all. That just leaves the ones in his head.


End file.
